Particularly Pleasing Practice Pinhole Pictures, Part 1

It’s Worldwide Pinhole Photography Day! Buzz and I are down in Manhattan for a pinhole photo walk so my regular post will be published a little later than usual today. In the meantime, here are some pictures that he took with the pinhole camera he built from an old Brownie Flash Six-20.


As you may or may not know, Worldwide Pinhole Photography Day is Sunday 28 April 2013. Yes, this coming Sunday. And as you also may or may not know, Your Humble Filmosaur intends to take part, using the converted Kodak Brownie Flash Six-20 introduced here recently. Of course, I’ve only had this thing for a few weeks, so I figured I should probably get in a little practice before the big day is upon us.

The first roll I shot was Fuji Acros 100; I chose it because it has very low reciprocity failure (essentially none up to 120-second exposures). This is the film I will shoot on Sunday. Strictly out of curiosity, however, I decided to load up a roll of Kodak Ektar for my second practice roll. Ektar is not known as a particularly tolerant film; it behaves sort of like a slide film in that it prefers…

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Day 93: What do they notice?

It’s usually fairly easy to pick tourists out. For the most part, they are the people who are walking slower and looking up. It’s hard not to. The buildings really are quite tall.

Day 92 - West 33rd

But there are other things to see…

Day 92 - Steam

…or chuckle at.

Day 92 - Gourmet


It is National Poetry Month, and though I confess a definite preference for prose, I do have a few favorite poets that I will turn to when such a mood strikes. I thought a little Walt Whitman might be apropos to end this series.


I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city,
Whereupon lo! upsprang the aboriginal name.
Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly,
musical, self-sufficient,
I see that the word of my city is that word from of old,
Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb,
Rich, hemm’d thick all around with sailships and steamships, an
island sixteen miles long, solid-founded,
Numberless crowded streets, high growths of iron, slender, strong,
light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies,
Tides swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown,
The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining
islands, the heights, the villas,
The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the
ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model’d,
The down-town streets, the jobbers’ houses of business, the houses
of business of the ship-merchants and money-brokers, the 
Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week,
The carts hauling goods, the manly race of drivers of horses, the
brown-faced sailors,
The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft,
The winter snows, the sleigh-bells, the broken ice in the river,
passing along up or down with the flood-tide or ebb-tide,
The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form’d,
beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes,
Trottoirs throng’d, vehicles, Broadway, the women, the shops and shows,
A million people–manners free and superb–open voices–hospitality–
the most courageous and friendly young men,
City of hurried and sparkling waters! city of spires and masts!
City nested in bays! my city!